this is an updating investigation
Of course, it was when she went to him, telling him that there was someone else, another man, that she began to love him again. His jumper looked like one you’d wear at primary school and it was the way he pulled the sleeve of it over his hand to wipe his eyes. She realised they hadn’t been alone together for months and then his body seemed to ooze with untouched warmth. His eyes were brown, his hair was brown and he was lovely (later that evening her new boyfriend, now allowed, would seem too angular in comparison and his pale skin grotesque). He placed his hands on the table in between them and said that he’d make her a cup of tea, but that after that they couldn’t speak anymore. His hands were like his dick, admirable, and she wanted to shout out that she was joking, that she really loved him while letting herself back into his musty, grey-marl arms. A less careful person would have done that.
Afterwards, she recounted the story of the visit to a colleague, who didn’t know him, and in a slight click of empathic understanding the colleague said,
- Don’t you wish you could have two boyfriends?
Although she’s never even asked.
One winter, a few years after this, he is part of a gang that comes to visit her in her new home she shares with her boyfriend. They live in a cabin up a snowy mountain.
Some things happen on this holiday like:
- she is ashamed that she wants to sit next to him, talk to him and walk with him over wanting to do these things with her boyfriend.
- she notices that he laughs at a lot of her jokes (does she laugh at his? -yes!)
- she notices that he makes a little sympathetic noise whenever she does something cute. She makes eye contact with him, then notices that her boyfriend has made the same noise on the other side of the circle of people (men that love/d her think that she is cute).
- Once she touches the top of his arm with her hand when they are going up the escalator in the underground station (yes, by the mountains, whatever). It seems a fairly non-sexual touch through his t-shirt, shirt, hoodie and thick denim jacket, but she feels daring and something twitches in her cunt. His eyes twinkle as the light changes from the false, blue underground one to the three pm winter city outside. Luxurious.
I remember how you didn’t think you were sexy how when we first had sex and I said, not quite naturally, you’re so hot you thought I meant temperature.
I remember you who told me that once as a little boy you took the stuffing out of
two different toys so that you could swap their insides but then realised you’d destroyed them both how you woke up one morning and your mother wasn’t there how you cried when I wrote a poem about you and said you’d never loved anyone more I remember all that and despair that my love is demanded to be so absolute so yes or no, one person or the other.
this secret medal no use to anyone
Since the year began I
have carried you, darling,
through all my days with
your face that does
deserve to be somebody’s darling
So now your childhood
sadness, your matching hair and
eyes, your long hands and
soft chest stay while I walk
through rain on streets back
to a man.